A half-dozen federal agents carrying assault weapons flanked the
entrance to the Brooklyn Federal courthouse Friday as notorious
59-year-old drug czar and escape artist Joaquin (El Chapo) Guzman was
arraigned on a laundry list of crimes as the head of the Sinaloa cartel.
Dozens of NYPD cops joined the agents, forming a protective ring around the Cadman Plaza West courthouse.
“We can assure you there will not be any tunnel being built from his
bathroom,” Angel Melendez of the Homeland Security Department's
Immigration Customs Enforcement said, referring to Guzman’s 2015 escape
from Mexican prison.

Dressed in a navy blue prison smock, his fingers interlocked behind his
back and surrounded by five burly U.S. Marshals, the billionaire drug
lord pleaded not guilty to the 17-count indictment.
The charges included drug trafficking, money laundering and his involvement in 12 murder conspiracies.
“I didn’t know until now,” Guzman said about the charges, speaking
through a translator, when asked if he understood what he was accused
of.
Artwork by Aggie Kenny

Sunday, January 15, 2017

Melanie Reim is one of the original UrbanSketchers correspondents and is a top notch art professor of illustration at FIT in NYC.
Her blog http://sketchbookseduction.blogspot.com/ highlights her reportage artwork. The pieces are reminiscent of Feliks Topolski
Below are her drawings of the recent Trump rallies on 5th avenue and election day at the Javits Center

TRUMP PROTEST RALLY DRAWINGS BY MELANIE REIM

Trump Tower protests on 5th ave

"Like so many others, my shock soon turned to action, as
the outrage at the results of the election became a living,
hard,reality. The immediate and visceral reaction

by much of NY, on a daily basis following the election
was nothing short of historical- and demanded documentation
from the POV of the reportage artist. The protests continue and so will I." Melanie Reim

ELECTION DAY DRAWINGS BY MELANIE REIM

Below are some drawings from the day- from waiting on line to vote, to waiting to get into Javits Center, to being ushered out to the "block party" and ultimately, to close-by Frazier's Bar, where the whole place was pro-Hillary, but the scene of all hope lost. Plenty of pantsuits. There are bound to be many moments in the coming years that are worthy of fighting for and against - and to document.

The morning started out with great anticipation. I stood on line on the UWS for close to an hour but no matter- it was a beautiful morning with great conversation. Exciting to see the turnout to vote.

We were ushered into the vast, characterless vacuum of the Javits Center, into a holding "pen"- divided into the 'haves' and 'have nots'- that is the real ticket holders and us. There we sat for another two hours, waiting, watching. By this time, more pantsuits had arrived. Having grown into my working life wearing one, it amused me, and I loved watching that sisterhood emerge. Occasionally, a modest effort to galvanize the crowd with a chant for Hillary rumbled,

but again, the energy seemed to be in a measured conservation mode.

As afternoon turned to early evening, the golden glow of the sun faded through the windows.

Soon, the security would usher us through the airport like gates, and send us out- to the street! And to the "Block Party." Whaaaat? Here we were, on 11th Avenue. under the center, that glowing H sign and coupled with hundreds of other H supporters, clamoring for info, a glimpse of the candidate,

a way back inside. It was coming up on 7pm. Reports that Hillary was not going to show up until 11pm. No one at that time had any notion of what was in store. Food trucks opened, lines formed, more hanging out, meeting new folks, sharing stories and waiting.

We headed to 11th Avenue. As we waited for my bus, we realized that we were across from Clyde Frazier's Bar, and through the windows, we saw that results were starting to show up. Off we went. But then, reality started to set in. The bar kept filling, it did not get any quieter, but the expression and body language was all too telling. There were reporters and statisticians, a constant flow of beers, fries, all the while on their phones, laptops, tablets, furrowed brows, eyes never leaving the screens. Though we kept our hands moving, we felt every jab, every shocking report. "How could this be happening?!" The collective thought that is still reverberating throughout New York, certainly, and the country.